


Night Terrors

by TnT6713



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TnT6713/pseuds/TnT6713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk wakes up in the middle of the night, still hazy from a very unsettling dream. Dirk/Roxy, Mom/Dad, implied Bro/Mom</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkippyKangaroo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippyKangaroo/gifts).



There’s a thick layer of fog between you and the rest of the world, a surreality twisting everything you can see into black and white. Your hands are older now, stronger, sadder, dull callouses harder to see but easier to feel. Your glasses are bigger now. Your hair is shorter now. A worn-out pair of old black gloves appears on your palms and they weren’t there a second ago, but you can’t remember a second ago—they’ve always been there. They should be new, but they feel so old. You feel so old.

Where did the fog go? Maybe you’ve gotten used to it. No, there is no fog, there was never any fog. Why did you think there was fog? You can’t remember thinking there was fog—just the visible wind floating by so lazily, diluting your senses. You can’t hear a thing.

You’re underwater.

No, you’re not underwater. You never thought you were underwater. There is no water here—is there? No, there isn’t. No, there can’t be. No—what were you thinking about? Water? What is water? You’re underwater.

No.

Something soft touches your withered hand: it feels like shadows. Something dulled and pink floats through your vision. You follow it to the shadow that touched your hand—did something touch your hand? These gloves are cold.

Even through the thick fog obscuring your vision, you could never mistake the long, willowy legs blurring into focus before you, the shock of pink scarf trailing miles behind her, black lipstick against marble, featureless face. Where did her face go? What is a face? You run your hand across your cheek: all you feel is fog. You don’t have a face.

Scarf. Fedora. Fog. Pipe. Martini. Fog. Closer. Touching. Quiet. There was never any fog. She’s touching your hand. They’re standing so close now. Heavy. Fedora. Martini. This wind is so thick. They’re kissing now. You’re so old now.

You can feel yourself screaming.

The silence is so loud.

The whole world dissolves, swallowed by the fog, into nothing but a warm, soft, cutting whisper on the breeze.

_Roxy._

* * *

You wake in damp sheets, shivers wracking your clammy spine. You reach up a young, gloveless hand to wipe the sweat from your brow. You can feel the dips and contours of eyes, nose, lips. You have a face. Everything looks so clear, so solid, so bright.

You grab AR from the nightstand.

DIRK: Hey.

AR: What time is it?

DIRK: You’re the computer. You tell me.

AR: I was doing an impression of you.

DIRK: Ha ha.

AR: You look terrible.

DIRK: Thank you.

AR: I expected you to choose from one of the other 17,336,000 possible responses, but you’re welcome.

DIRK: I think I had a bad dream.

AR: You think, or you did?

DIRK: I did.

AR: It was about Roxy, wasn’t it? Based on the contents of your other dreams, there’s about an 86% chance it was about Roxy.

DIRK: She looked so much older. I almost didn’t recognize her.

AR: Did she leave you?

You look at him for a moment, a long moment. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand. You don’t want to think about it anymore.

DIRK: Yeah. Yeah, she did.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly couldn't tell you how long this prompt has been sitting in my drafts but I've finally written it. You're welcome, user skippykangaroo. I wrote it in my down-time during standardized testing. T_T I have a feeling these next few days will be very productive for me.


End file.
